


Between The Wines

by my_inked_asterism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Slug Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: Au in which Ron and Hermione get to go to the Slug Club’s Christmas party together.(prompt: firewhiskey + common room at midnight)





	Between The Wines

Walking through the spacious hallway of the last atrium of the castle, Hermione hears her own heels hitting hard on the floor as every steps echoes behind her and only partly reflects her distress.

 

Her dress is short, shorter than most she had been wearing lately anyway; the rayon blend of the sleeves covers just the upper part of her arms, and despite the neckline follows perfectly the curves of her collarbones, her back’s left bare and exposed to the winter piercing breeze.

 

Robot-like, she turns on the left, then another left, walking straight as she heads to the Quidditch field in her so not appropriate outfit for a match. She pretends to think that’s the reason why her heart is beating so out of her chest at every footstep she leaves behind.

Except it’s maintained that pace for a hour or eight by now, since she woke up that morning, but that's not the point.

 

Nor is the fact that Harry and Ginny had been both freed from their team’s Quidditch training and been able to meet their date in normal circumstances, to arrive at the ridiculous party _on time_ and with someone who wasn't even close to make them jump on their seat at the very first eye contact.

She doesn't even bother that her date is apparently no influential enough person to Professor Slughorn, which means he wasn’t exonerated from his athletic duties but even less from the party dinner.. For _that_ , he can be justified, at least. It was too bad that she had a bad habit of being punctual and not fashionably late.

But the point _is_ that Ron Bilius Weasley, her date, was in fact not dating _her_ , but her roommate Lavender, who’s now probably locked in their own bedroom leafing through some sort of jinxes magazine to conjure her in her sleep, or consult her divination bowl to try to check them out.

And Hermione really _really_ wishes, with all her heart and soul, that this awareness didn't make her lips tug up a little.

Her heels tap on the stone, her heart follows with a beat. Her heart skips a beat at the anticipation, her feet double the speed for the excitement. Her mind is screaming that it’s a bad idea. Her body wants to freeze, her heart pushes it forward. Her heels crush the ground harder, her heart pounds louder. And with that singsong in her head, Hermione finds herself in front of the changing room door that suddenly swings open and she’s assaulted by a red and golden crowd of sweaty boys, many back in their uniforms, some others still in the familiar team suit, none with ginger hair above.

She hears some greeting her, calling her name and she says hi on response without actually spotting their faces, too focused on finding Ron.

“Caref– oh, Hermione, hey!” She almost stumbles on a tall brunette girl, coming from side where the girl’s changing room is located. When she looks up she sees the radiant face of Katie Bell, smiling kindly down at her.

“Katie, hi!” She greets her.

“What are you doing here? You look gorgeous by the way.”

“Thank you,” she feels her ears flush slightly, not much at her compliment but for what’s coming next. “I’m… er, looking for Ron. Is he still inside?”

Katie’s attempt to repress a smirk is not even convincing. “I think he’s changing, he’s been in there for a while. You can stay here and wait for him if you like.”

“Thank you.” She smiles wholeheartedly, before waving her goodbye.

Hermione waits for a while outside, toying with her wand and playing hundred of different speeches in her mind to talk about once at the party, and somehow this manages to keep her brain busy for a good eleven minutes, before a loud thump coming from the change room draws her attention.

Worried, she stretches her hand towards the wooden door already when it suddenly flings open in front of her to reveal Ron, standing tall before her in his beige trousers... and bare torso.

Her jaw clicks open so ridiculously fast she’s positive she might have broken it.

 

“Her– Hermione!”

“Ron!”

They call each other in unison, one stuttering and flushing as soon as he meets her eyes, the other with hoarse voice as if she hadn't used it for ages.

“Uhm, hi!” They say at the same time again, before laughing shyly and Hermione feels the tension slowly fading away already.

“Hey.” He beams at her, now scanning her figure as If he had just seen her for the first time for months and Hermione can't help but holding her breath at the way his eyes flicker on her curves, lingering on her exposed neck and  with so much awe to have her melted in a minute.

They keep staring at each other’s bodies almost mesmerized, cradled in a heavy silent that however is nothing but awkward, as if they were born to look at each other.

The first and only time Hermione has seen him half naked was over a year ago, while he was playing Quidditch with Harry and Ginny in their field at the Burrow, shirtless and sweaty and looking absolutely _fetching_ . That was probably the time she realized she wanted so much more with him; before that moment, the wildest dream she’d had of him was about them snogging, maybe in places where they shouldn't be allowed to do stuff like that, like the library, in an empty class or in one of those secret passages for Hogsmeade. But _after_ that? She did learn the meaning of ‘wild dreams’.

And now, standing right before him, so close that if she only stretched a hand forward she’d be able to feel his skin against hers, Hermione can't help her appreciating look as her eyes linger on the curve of his adonis belt, the smooth skin of his abdomen where light rectangular curves shape his abs, partly covered by tempting ginger hair on his lower abdomen, hiding down to the edge of his pants.

“You look… amazing.” His voice makes her lift her eyes again, swallowing hard as they meet his.

 

“Th– thanks.” She stutters; nodding to his naked torso she says, “well you look…” she really doesn't know how to continue the sentence.

He smiles at her loss of words. “Yeah I forgot my bag on the benches, and my vest is in there so er… I was going to take it.”

 

“Oh, sure.” She makes him room and he quickly goes past her, leaving a contrail of his shampoo  that smells like her amortentia  and her brain goes blank for another moment.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Yeah hurry up, Ronald.” She scolds him, more to regain composure than for annoyance.

When he comes back he has his vest on, allowing her to relax and quit thinking of his abdominal hair  and it takes him only five more minutes to finish changing, and lock his equipment locker with a spell.

 

They barely talk throughout all the way up to the room where the dinner is supposed to take place. Strangely enough, Ron doesn't complain about the disparity of treatment between him and his sister and Harry’s; whether because he doesn't feel like speak ill of them knowing it’s not their fault, or because skipping a part of that party can't be but a blessing, she can't tell.

 

“Blimey, I’m starving.” He mutters as they approach to the entrance of the hall.

Hermione chuckles. “That's a new one.”

He pinches her softly at the deadpan which causes her to let out a loud gasp, making him laugh at once. She would normally yell at him in other circumstances, with her wand dangerously inches away from his ribs holding a threat – of spells or tickle doesn't matter, being both incredibly efficient on him – and she is about to do the same when the air suddenly stops in her lungs at the feeling of his hand on her bare back, so unexpected to make her gasp. He gently leads her indoors and starts tracing slow circles with his thumb against her skin to comfort her, maybe confusing her wide eyes for a symptom of social anxiety.

(Which she _doesn't_ have, by the way. Nope. Not this girl.)

By the time they cross the entryway, a slightly tipsy Ginny has her arms flung around her neck already, giggling a ‘hi’ and greeting her brother with a pat. Hermione reacts pulling her in a quick hug, giving Ron a weak smile as he makes his way to the table, mouthing her to wait for her up there.

 

She watches him taking seat next to Harry, where she presumes Ginny was before. She spots Harry approaching her, which makes her close her mouth immediately.

“Hey!” Harry appears from behind Ginny and greets her with a kiss on her cheek, nonchalantly resting his hand on Ginny’s shoulder as support. Hermione pretends not to catch the flushing spots forming on the redhead’s neck as she speaks to Harry.

 

“How’s the dinner going?”

“Er, the usual: ignoring Slughorn’s remarks on my scar, or the ‘you got your mother’s eyes’ speech; looking away from Mclaggen who has  had the same homicidal look the entire dinner.”

 

Hermione turns around towards the point of the table Harry just nodded to, and she finds indeed a very infuriated Cormac staring at the trio with his eyes so narrowed Hermione wonders if he can even see a thing like that. Beside him, a pretty brunette girl has one arm mischievously stretched around his back, the other hiding under the table as she whispers something at the young man’s ear with a grin on her mouth.

Hermione reddens at once for some reason and turns away.

“Yeah, I think that's my fault actually.” Harry winces.

“Only ‘cause you picked Ron over him as keeper of the team?” Hermione hisses in surprise.

 

“Well, Ron’s like my brother...”

“But that’s nothing to do with his skills! He’s better than Cormac, period.”

“Right?” Harry intercedes, watching Hermione with a scolding look that she gets immediately and that makes her find the floor suddenly more interesting.

Once the dinner is over and the charmed orchestra of instruments playing in a corner starts turning up the volume, a couple of students – two slytherins of the fifth year Hermione doesn't recognize at all – opens the dances, forced by a very tipsy Slughorn pushing the young man in the middle of the ballroom and whom inevitably drags a girl behind him, their cheeks red just like the professor although for two distinct and opposite reasons.

 

But by the time the couple had made the first turn around the room, half of the guests had joined them, including Luna, who Hermione spots her kindly declining an offer of a pretty brunette boy to dance with him, swirling away from him to make her way across the crowd. Hermione can't decide what’s the most comic in the situation, whether the boy’s expression – a mix of incredulity and defeat – or Luna’s solitary dance with  pirouettes around the dance floor.

Gradually the chairs around them empty and the four of them are left alone in a comfortable silence with a half-empty bottle of Butterbeer resting in the middle of the table.

When Ron yawns for the second time in a raw, Harry follows suit and Hermione keeps toying with the hem of her dress as if in another dimension, she suddenly hears Ginny emit an exasperated sigh and without warning she’s leaning forward.

“Okay, we _need_ to do something. I can't stand your faces anymore.” She urges.

 

“Unfortunately, this is the one your mother gave me.” Ron replies sarcastically, and Hermione has to stop every atom of hers to answer back with her own opinion about his face.

“This is supposed to be a party and we’re wasting it!”

“Yeah, not to be an arse but I didn't sign up for this. Even though, “ he adds then with a pout, “I don't know if the alternative would’ve been better.”

She knows what the alternative was. And it included a dark blonde girl and a very wide sofa which would end up being used for a third only and in no comfortable positions. “Let's play a game,” Hermione exclaims suddenly, trying to shoo the picture of Ron and Lavender’s bodies tangled together.

The attention is immediately drawn to her and, satisfied with that, she stretches forward to grab the butterbeer bottle, a mischievous look glittering in her eyes. After having checked that no one was watching them, Hermione takes her wand, points it at the bottle and mumbles a spell. The liquid slowly turns darker, the bright golden shade of before becomes amber, the smell coming out from it disperses around them and when she looks up to check her friends’ faces, she finds them all staring at the new drink with some sort of intrigued expression, hypnotized by the familiar orange sparkles and its piercing scent.

Harry grins. “firewhiskey?”

Hermione nods, reflecting his own smirk.

“And the game is…?” Ginny asks tentatively.

“Truth or dare.” Hermione states, for some reason looking directly at Ron as she speaks. “And every dare is a shot.”

After that, it’s all a long and _very_ quick slope towards an imaginary ban that she hopes she won't be the first one to break through. A climax she’s not interested to find out. And yet, it’s Hermione the one to push the bottle that reads ‘Butterbeer’ but smells like grappa towards Ron when he chooses dare for first.

That’s the song that goes on all night long.

 

_“Truth or dare?”_

_“Truth.”_

_“Would you use Grimmauld Place to throw a random party?”_

_“Hell yes.”_

 

_“Truth or dare?”_

_“Truth._

_“Have you ever hooked up with someone while your parents were at home?”_

_“What? No, Ronald! Not even with my parents out, if we’re making a point…”_

 

_“Truth or dare?”_

_“Truth.”_

_“Does mum know you’re dating Dean?”_

_“...no.”_

 

_“Truth or dare?”_

_“Dare.”_

 

Everyone blinks, but stay silent. With narrowed eyes, Hermione slowly passes the bottle to Ron.

The others, unlike her, don’t seem too bothered by his answer, and neither would Hermione, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been giving that same reply every damn time. For five times in a row. Five times avoiding her eyes for some reason, five times swallowing down a copious glass of firewhiskey and licking his lips right after in a way that, for five times, made Hermione rub her thighs together as the heat pools over her body.

His cheeks had turned already into a bright shade of red by the time Ron sips the last drop of alcohol from his shot glass, finishing all that was left in the bottle as well.

He’s not even _that_ drunk, Hermione thinks, watching his eyes still wide awake and sparkling, although his movements had gone slower and for a while now he’d started laughing at Ginny’s jokes. ‘So unrealistic, honestly,’ Hermione thinks

When she spots him taking out the wand from his jacket, eyes fixed on a bottle of cherry syrup in front of them, Hermione gets his intentions at once.  

“Oh no.” She urges, putting a hand on his still holding his wand to stop him. “I don’t think so. You’ve had enough by now.”

“Oh _come on._ ” He complains, but he had let go already, the wand rested harmlessly on the table. Beside his hand. That Hermione’s still grabbing.

The thought of removing her hand had just crossed her mind when Ron’s suddenly turns around beneath hers, entwining their fingers in a way that Hermione can’t help to notice how _right_ it feels, and gets up.

“So let's dance.”

She’s forced to get up as well, pulled towards him by the hand. “What?!”

 

“Let’s dance.” He repeats, shrugging. As if it was such a totally normal occurrence for them, to have a moment. As if it made so much sense for a compromised boy to dance with his supposed best friend.

 

Right. _Friend_ .

Against her willing, she lets go of his hand. “You can’t, Ron.”

 

“What? Why not?” He says, completely oblivious and tilting his head.

 

Is he being serious?! He’s acting like he completely forgot to have a girlfriend, who besides, happens to be Hermione’s good friend and roommate.

 

“Ron, I think Lavander–”

 

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

 

He tugs her to him, cutting her off as he makes his way through the crowd, and still with her hand in his, he drags her behind him and stops only when he reaches the centre of the dancefloor. Even among all those people around them dancing and swinging their hips at the notes of what Hermione identifies as a reggae song, she can still feel Harry’s eyes drilling holes in the back of her head while staring at her probably in shock, or Ginny’s playful smirk as she watches them facing each other with flushed faces.

 

In her attempt to tune them out, Hermione totally misses Ron’s hand sliding away from hers, only to come to place on her waist and, as he does so, she’s automatically pulled closer to his body and she can’t help the gasp at his sudden vicinity.

 

“So,” he begins, a little uncertain on his feet for the lack of balance, “what were you thinkin’?”

 

“I uhm…” She literally can’t remember because all she can think about right now is the feeling of Ron’s flat hand on her side, so large, so warm, and concrete against her covered skin to make her feel safe by the only act of touching her.

 

“I think you know what I was thinking.”

 

Yes. That’s the more eloquent, mature, cunning thing she’s able to come up with.

God, why does her IQ has to plummet whenever he’s so close?

 

Ron grins. “ _I_ was thinking that you owed me a dance.”

 

“Excuse me? You were dancing with someone else for what I recall.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause you happened to be taken already.”

 

“I never heard an invitation coming from your mouth, though.”

 

“I did ask you.” Ron mutters.

 

“Oh yes, you mean when you realized I’m a girl?” She replies in a high-pitched tone.

 

“When I realized you were beautiful.”

 

Her feet stop moving, and she sees Ron do the same, although he doesn’t seem to look really well, now slightly pale - if either for his confession or for the alcohol she’s not sure. The music slowly ebbs away in her head, replaced by those six words played on repeat as a new favorite song she’s already got addicted to. He doesn’t meet her eyes, deciding to stare at their joined hands raised at one side instead, with his cheeks flushed just as much as hers and glassy eyes.

 

“What?” She breathes out.

 

But the moment he opens his mouth to speak, Hermione sees Ron’s body stumbling away and at his place, a tall blondish boy, unfortunately familiar, appears before her with a sneer. She really doesn’t have the time nor the willing to process Cormac’s stupid entrance, because in a minute she’s stretched forward, arms flung around Ron’s waist to support him as she manages to save him from smashing his face on the ground.

 

“Are you _insane_? You could’ve hurt him!” She helps Ron straighten as he massages the part where Mclaggen hit him.

 

“My apologies.” Nothing in his tone sounds apologetic.

 

“What do you want?” Hermione asks him sharply.

 

“A dance?”

 

She lets out a scornful laugh. “Forget about it.”

 

“Oh come on, it’s just a dance!”

 

“Cormac, I said no!”

 

“I know you thought about inviting me, so where’s the problem now?”

 

“Well I obviously changed my mind. You’re not very intuitive, are you?”

 

“I am and I can catch a sign when I see one, Granger.”

 

“ _Let go._ ”

 

“God, you’re so pathetic.”

 

One moment Ron's yelling at Cormac in front of her; a moment later he has fallen on the floor, pummeling Cormac in the ribs..

 

The people around them split apart with a gasp, making room to the two wizards fighting on the ground. Initially, Ron’s the one prevailing, as he traps Cormac between him and the cold pavement, but then someone or something among the crowd distracts the ginger which gives Cormac an opportunity to react and roll on one side, so that now he’s towering over Ron who struggles to fight back for the lack of reflexes.

 

“Ron!” Hermione shouts, frozen on her place.

 

But Cormac’s arm had raised already, a threatening fist clenched above his head and read to hit his goal when–

 

“MCLAGGEN. WEASLEY.”

 

Despite the sea of people, Slughorn’s figure is not really one that blends in easily and the austere tone reflects just right his large measures when he yells the boys’ names.

 

They stop fighting and look up at the old man; Hermione’s gaze follows theirs as well just to find the professor’s face red for anger, eyes wide and darting flames at those who clearly ruined his famous party.

 

“ _Out.”_

* * *

 

“ _Glacius_.”

 

The towel in her hand turns to a solid block of ice at once, and Hermione quickly wraps it in a soft tea cloth before her hands have the time to freeze at the contact with it.

 

Ron’s face contorts in a snarl of pain that he tries to mask with a weak smile as she places the cloth at the side of his head, right where it smashed on the ground when McLaggen pushed him.

 

“Sorry.” Hermione winces, as if she could feel his pain on her own skin.

 

“‘S okay.” Ron trails off, leaning his head on the couch and closing his eyes in the process.

The common room is deserted, fortunately. The curfew was about half hour ago, so there’s no way someone would break in the room at that hour, and the best part of the students had already left for Christmas holidays, so it was no surprise that even the few people who remained were in bed, considered the hour.

 

After the fight, Harry and Hermione had helped Ron to stand on his feet and carried him to the tower. They had waited for him to gain back his balance and full senses –despite not having passed out for good he was still half-drunk, half-hungover – and eventually they decided it was quite useless for both of them to stick with him, and since Hermione first period happened to be free the following day, they agreed on her to remain with Ron.

 

Logical reasons a part, Harry’s acting skills never have been the best so when he starts fake-yawning from nothing and in a quite compulsive way, so unrealistic, Hermione doesn't miss his knowing look, how his eyes (not sleepy at all, despite what he wanted to make her believe) landed on their joined hands, beaming. She hadn't realized she never let go of his hand.

 

“Still hurts?” She murmurs, carefully moving the frozen cloth on his head for a better angle.

 

“Not so much now.” But his eyes are still shut, as to focus on controlling the ache and not to flinch.

 

When he opens them, their eyes lock in an instant, and Hermione suddenly finds it difficult to keep her breathing regular when he glances at her like that. His head is tilted slightly forward, resting on the couch, so that she has to lean a little to reach for the wound. And their faces are _so_ close… his eyes weary on hers as if he was taking her in, contemplating her.

 

“Did you uhm… enjoy the party?” She hears herself say, internally cursing for the dumb question because _really Hermione? He just got into a fight!_

 

“Before I was completely pissed on firewhiskey and got my arse kicked? Sure.”

 

She bursts into a laughter, seeing Ron smile as well at the sound of it. “You’re a great dancer, anyway.”

 

“Large families involve numerous weddings and dance classes with your big bros, you know.”

 

“That sounds fun.”

 

“Until you break a toe per year, it is.” She laughs again and rests her side on the couch, getting only a few inches closer.

 

“What about you? Did you like the party?” He then asks.

 

“Yeah. It was nice after all.” She pauses for a while. “You didn't have to punch him, you know.”

 

Ron’s eyes go wide. “You’re saying he didn't deserve it?”

 

“No, I mean ...you didn't have to. Just that.” And somehow she can't hold his gaze anymore and looks down on her lap.

 

He’s silent, probably considering the right words to say. “He’s a git.”

 

“I know...you could’ve just ignored him.”

 

“He was harassing you! He called you a pathetic! How I was gonna ignore that?” His tone slightly raises.

 

When she lifts her eyes to look up at him, she finds him gazing at her with an indignant expression, as if he had received all those offends himself.

 

“I really appreciated that, Ron.” She smiles and he smiles back at her and her heart is beating so fast at this point she thinks she could wake up the whole tower.

 

“You–” he clears his throat, looks away from her and suddenly his eyes are sad. “You really thought about inviting him?”

 

“No! Well, yes. But just because… you know, I asked you before you started dating Lavander and–”

 

“And what?”

 

“I didn't think you would’ve come with me.” She blurts out. God she’d kept that inside since _forever_.

 

Ron’s expression is indecipherable at start. But then he grins, taking her hand away from his head and putting it on his lap instead, lingering a little when her knuckles brush his cheek. The iced garment forgotten on the couch, her hand between his as he draws circles on it with his thumbs and despite it’s not even close to the things she dreamt about his hands, the contact makes shiver, warming her up at once.

 

“You won't get rid of me that easily, Hermione.”

 

She chuckles. “Next time I’ll try harder.”

 

“Oh, next time uhm?” He smirks playfully. “Take it back.”

 

“No.” She tries to refrain a laugh.

 

“Take it back!” He insists with a smile.

 

“Nope.” Hermione states amused, marking the ‘p’ with her lips.

 

Then he moves forward so quickly she doesn't expect him to, unprepared seeing his lack of reflexes due to the firewhiskey, when his hands reach for her ribs and find her ticklish point that _of course_ he knows.

 

“Ron–” she’s cut off by her own laughters, tears forming at the corners of her eyes already, “Ron, stop!”

 

“Admit you don't want to get rid of me.” He says between laughters, still teasing her on her sides.

 

“Okay okay!” She urges, breathless. “Okay, you win.”

 

He stops. “So it's true?”

 

“You know it is.” She rolls her eyes in attempt to sound annoyed but her tone is too soft, her eyes to happy and cheek too flushed to get it bought.

 

Then something else clicks on her.

 

“No lies between us, right?”

 

His look gets suspicious.”Of course.”

 

She nods, her heart hammering in her chest as she tries to formulate the question she’s been dying to ask all night.

 

“Why you never picked the truth when we were playing?”

 

Ron blinks once, twice, then again one last time before pursuing his lips in a way she’d find incredibly cute if she wasn't so curious and slightly anxious. Is he hiding something from them? From her? Is he afraid of something they might have asked him? Hermione _hates_ not to know. And especially about him.

 

“I ...don't feel comfortable to talk about my personal stuff.” His change of tone makes her regret about her question, but he looks calm and doesn't seem bothered, which soothe her a little

 

“You’re uncomfortable with _us_?”

 

“I'm uncomfortable with the game in general, Hermione.”

 

“What does this even mean?”

 

“I mean, if I have to tell you guys something personal I can just talk to you at any time and not necessarily with an audience or so!”

 

“Well, you haven't talked much about your ‘personal stuff’ lately, not to me at least.” She really wishes that hadn't come out so harsh, her voice is painful and she’s regretting to have started this conversation in first place but she _has to_ know.

 

“Okay, what do you want to know?” Ron exiles, slightly exasperated.

 

“What?” She’s gaping now.

 

“Tell me what do you want to know from me.” He’s offering her answers, opening himself like a book for her despite she has no right to know _anything_ of him. It’s like a mutual agreement they set about  two years ago by now, when he got mental because of Viktor and she understood she just couldn't talk to him about certain things. Then Ginny and her became closer and it wasn't so much of a burden to not be able to talk about her most private life to Ron.

 

She never really found herself in need to know such things from him. Not ever, until now.

She has to know. Because now he has a girlfriend, he’s maybe doing things she only got a hint of when she dated Viktor, he’s kissing her and spending time with her and _she doesn't know_.

 

He has a girlfriend and yet, his fingers are tangled with hers as he keep staring right into her eyes in wait for a question.

 

“So you’re gonna answer?”

 

“Just ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

 

“What? That’s unfair.”

 

“That’s the game.” He shrugs again and gives her a soft smile to encourage her to go on.

Right, that’s the game that _she_ started and almost put the boy she’s in love with in trouble for it, and now she’s getting in one as well if she plays her cards wrong.

 

_But she has to know._

 

She swallows hard, forcing her eyes to hold his look. “Okay,” she whispers, before clearing her throat nervously. “Are you… are you in love?”

 

Ron’s eyes widen, his cheeks suddenly flushing. “What?! That’s the question?”

 

“I– yes, Ronald. That's my question.” Man, could it be any hotter in that room.

 

“Why do you even want to know?”

 

“We never talk about relationships?” She suggests.

 

“Am I supposed to talk about my relationships with you?”

 

Hermione pretends not have heard the plural and rolls her eyes at his annoyance. “‘Cause I'm your friend, you idiot!”

 

And then something happens. His glance, so intense and fierce and playful of seconds ago, suddenly turns sadder. His red cheeks get back to their usual pale color, and his whole expression flattens, as if it just turned into stone. It’s sad first, then defeated, and finally devoid of emotions, all in less than a minute.

 

“Right.” He breathes out, his voice low. And she is _so_ confused now.

 

His eyes lock on hers with so much intensity she feels pulled forward by his just look on her. His breathing is regular and she finds herself sync her own with his.

 

With his hand still covering hers and fingers brushing softly her palm, he answers her question. “Yes. I'm in love.”

 

Hermione’s heart falls so heavily she thinks or might get to the bottom of the tower. She doesn't understand while Ron’s smiling like that now because she feels _so bad_ , she wants to throw up and he’s _smiling_ at her?

 

She’s lost contact with the world, except for the feeling of Ron’s fingertips drawing abstract figures on her hand, the only comfort of the situation. She focuses on that, closing her eyes at the sensation and tries to tune the rest of her awful feelings out.

 

A silent gasp escapes from her lips. Her heart comes back to live again and her upcoming tears suddenly feel like ones of joy at the discovery. They’re not abstract figures. He’s drawing the same exact one over and over again. A letter.

 

“Are you?” She whispers looking back at him, the pounding in her chest making it hard to breath properly.

 

One single letter.

 

“I am.” He smiles tenderly.

 

_H._

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was written for the [romione fluff fest](https://romioneflufffest.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Special thanks to divagonzo (diva-gonzo on tumblr) for betaing the fic and for her super helpful advices :)
> 
> Leave comments and kudos if you liked the story! & thank you so much for reading xx


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